Tough Love (7 page)

Whoa, the love for Kendra was leaving the building. If this kept up, no one would be going to Butch’'s wedding.

“"But if we can tie them to Malcolm’'s hit and run and Haleem’'s drive-by and/ or the dealer’'s shooting, we might be able to shut them down altogether,”" Captain Perry said. “"Like Bobby said, before they build up steam in the community.”"

“"One, two, three, like dominoes,”" Grace said, making a flicking motion with her thumb and forefinger.

“"Exactly. So there’'s your mandate, Detectives. Solve these three cases as quickly and as thoroughly as possible. If we can prove the Sons are involved in any of them, we’'ll kill two birds with one stone.”"

Her dark brown eyes glinted. “"I want the Sons quick, and I want them legally. And this has got to be done by the book. I do not want procedural errors. I want it provable and squeaky clean. Got it?”"

They nodded and broke it up like a team that had been huddling with their quarterback. Grace was glad Kate was their captain. She was smart, a great tactician, and committed to the job. Perfect credentials, as far as Grace was concerned.

Energized, Grace crossed to her desk, opened her brown paper bag, and pulled out Mr. Briscombe’'s framed photograph of Jamal and Malcolm at Jamal’'s getting-out party. With a pang, she touched Malcolm’'s face with her fingertip. Then she set the photograph on her desk, angling it just so. Next she opened the drawer where she kept the dried petals from all the roses the father of a murdered girl kept sending her, hoping to remind her to keep on working that cold, cold case. She had not forgotten. She would not forget.

So much death among the roses.

Ham walked up to her. “"I got stuff on the dealer,”" he said. “"From Indian. His name was Chris Jones but he went by Ajax.”"

“"Because that is so much sexier,”" Grace drawled.

“"Someone accused him of cutting his heroin with kitchen cleanser. Jones beats the accuser to a pulp and injects him with ammonia.”"

“"Well, damn, he’'s no angel.”"

“"He got a bad reputation for dirty drugs. Plus he banged some underage girl, got her pregnant, dumped her, and she committed suicide. So I could see someone hating him enough to shoot him three times.”" Ham gazed down at the picture.

“"And me, hating him enough to be glad he’'s dead,”" Grace said.

She couldn’'t be sorry about it. But she was very sorry that this was the kind of world Jamal couldn’'t seem to leave, no matter how hard she tried. He was going to wind up in hell, way down deep where the fire was hot.

Contemplating the work ahead, she made a face. “"Sheesh, Chris Jones. Why couldn’'t his last name be something like Nemecek-Gulac?”" Which was the least common surname in the United States, and the answer to a bar bet.

“"I’'ll start a file on him,”" Ham said. “"You should have your sleepover.”"

“"You’'re a good man, Dewey,”" she said. She fluttered her wings, which were still attached to her office chair. “"A real angel.”"

“"Payback.”" His smile was lecherous.

“"With interest,”" she promised. She had rarely been clearer that the sleepover was the right thing to do. With the mayhem on the streets, Clay was safest with her, knowing he was loved, knowing he had people watching out for him.

She shut the drawer and got ready to leave, already planning the required store run before she picked up Clay. At the thought of the fun to come, she brightened, and reached in her pocket for a cigarette.

    “"Sure, I would love to see Astronaut Farmer,”" Grace said as Clay held out the video. With all the deftness of a card sharp, she shuffled the three zombie movies she had rented—--who knew there were so many to choose from?—--to the bottom of the pile that was threatening to spill over on the coffee table. She made a show of admiring Billy Bob Thornton’'s smile as he stood in front of a barn. What on earth had possessed Clay to change his mind and watch this thing? She had a sneaking suspicion that Earl had had a hand in this.

Clay looked at her apprehensively. “"You’'re not disappointed, are you, Aunt Grace?”"

“"’'Course not, man,”" she said, taking his choice to the DVD player. “"I think the popcorn’'s nearly done. How about you grab it?”" He scooted into the kitchen, and she put the disk in.

Dressed in raggedy sweats and a too-small Frontier City T-shirt that had really had its day, Clay opened the microwave door. “"Oh, good, this is the kind with extra butter.”" Grinning, he plucked up the steaming popcorn bag with his thumb and forefinger.

“"There is no other kind,”" Grace declared as she headed back to the couch. “"Grab the Cokes, too.”" She reached for the bag of sour candy on the coffee table and ripped it open. Dove in and stuffed her mouth full of eye-watering, sour goodness. Sugar, fat, and caffeine. How bad could one movie be? “"We’'ll need the salt.”"

Clay brought over the goodies as Gus raised his head from his doggy bed, then hefted himself up and joined the party. He crawled onto the sofa and fwumped down beside Clay, eyeing him eagerly, and everyone got comfy.

“"I hope Forrest shows up on Sunday,”" Clay said as Grace grabbed a handful of popcorn. Grace felt a warmth in the center of her doting aunt’'s heart. Mooking around, watching movies and doing nothing special, that was when Clay opened up and told her what was on his mind. She treasured these moments as much as any Sooner touchdown. It was like cracking the case that was Clay’'s unfolding life, clue by miraculous clue.

“"That’'s that kid who’'s so pale,”" Grace recalled. “"Forrest Catlett. His mom won’'t let him ride in the parish van.”"

“"Yeah, she always drives him.”" Clay wrinkled his nose. “"It really embarrasses him. He hardly ever gets to come anymore. She told Father Alan that he’'s got some kind of condition.”"

Grace washed down her candy-and-popcorn mashup with three very hefty swallows of Coke. She burped. It was satisfying. Gus passed some gas. She assumed that was satisfying for him, too. As she and Clay made a show of waving away the smell, she took another handful of popcorn.

“"Do you think he’'s got some kind of condition?”" she asked.

Clay thoughtfully munched. “"I don’'t know. I’'ve been praying for him just in case.”"

She smiled at him. So sweet. His cheeks were still little-kid round, but he needed new black pants for school because he’'d grown two inches since Thanksgiving. A mixture of little boy and young man …... where was the baby she’'d rocked to sleep?

“"That’'s nice of you, Clay,”" Grace said sincerely. “"Praying for your friend.”"

“"Yeah. My dad’'s been praying for Forrest’'s parents to lighten up. He thinks they’'re turning him into a hypochondriac.”"

“"That’'s a big word,”" she said.

Clay took a good, healthy handful of gooey buttery goodness. Two kernels fluttered to the floor and Gus slid off the couch like a wet sandbag, Hoovering them up. Who needed to get the vacuum cleaner fixed?

She grabbed the remote. Let there be AstronautFarmer. She settled in and glanced over at Clay, who looked pensive.

“"She says Forrest is allergic to everything,”" he continued as the previews began. “"He has to bring special food. My dad says it’'s probably a bunch of hooey.”"

Grace cocked her head. “"What do you think?”"

“"Well, they’'re so protective of him,”" he mused.

“"Maybe because he’'s got some kind of condition.”"

“"Or maybe they’'re just worried that he might get hurt,”" Clay said. “"He had an older brother who died.”"

Grace was startled. That was new information; Clay had never mentioned any Catlett siblings before, deceased or otherwise.

“"So maybe they’'re afraid he’'ll die, too,”" he explained.

“"That makes sense, in a sad kind of way,”" she said. Maybe she herself was a little neurotic about Clay.

“"But it’'s hard to get hurt at rocket club.”" He frowned at the screen. “"These previews are really lame. Do you think the movie’'s going to be lame?”"

“"If it is, we’'ll watch something else.”" She could hope. She plucked up a piece of popcorn and aimed it at his nose. Bull’'s-eye. “"And we have liftoff,”" she said.

“"It’'s in the air.”" He threw a piece of popcorn back at her.

“"Oh, my God, meteor shower!”" She picked up a handful and showered him with it. Laughing shrilly, he leaped to his feet, reaching for the bag as Grace seized it, hurtled herself up and over the couch, and rolled to a crouch with the popcorn bag against her chest like a football. Clay rounded the end of the sofa and headed for her as she feinted left, right, working out an escape route while Clay wobbled with laugher, which slowed him down. Gus stretched up and flopped his head on the top of the sofa, watching with one eye closed, which was as enthusiastic as he was going to get.

Clay was almost on her when Grace turned her head toward the TV and shouted, “"Oh, my God!”" As she expected, Clay looked, and she lifted the bag over his head and showered him with popcorn.

“"Falling stars!”" she yelled.

“"Aunt Grace! Aunt Grace!”" Clay blustered, laughing. He slid to the floor, covered with popcorn; Grace did a war dance around him, whooping like a victorious brave. Gus got back down off the couch and approached, chomping his way to the two shrieking humans.

“"I’'m covered in butter!”" Clay protested.

“"I’'ve got a shower,”" she reminded him. “"And a washing machine.”" She dove over the couch, grabbed the salt, and dumped some over his head.

“"No, no!”" He laughed, flailing at her, obviously not really wanting to stop her. She added one more shake, then one for good luck over her shoulder.

“"Just be glad we weren’'t eating something you don’'t like,”" she told him. “"Like your grandma’'s split-pea soup.”"

He grimaced. “"Yuck.”"

“"My point exactly.”"

He wiped his face with the edge of his T-shirt, eyes twinkling, some nice high color in those apple cheeks. “"This is the kind of stuff Forrest never gets to do.”"

“"We should invite him over,”" Grace suggested. “"Show him how to walk on the wild side. With limits, of course. We’'ll only cover him in stuff he’'s not allergic to.”"

“"Wow, could we? That’'d be great.”" Clay plucked a piece of popcorn out of her hair. “"He’'d have a blast.”"

She smiled, wondering if Forrest’'s mom and dad could ever be persuaded to say yes. Doug might be able to give her some pointers on how to behave like a normal fuddy-duddy parent.

“"You go take a shower,”" Grace said. “"I’'ll clean up the mess.”"

“"Okay, Aunt Grace.”" Clay scooped up some popcorn to fling at her, but she was too quick and ducked out of trajectory range. His weapons of mass carbos plummeted to earth. Laughing, he turned around and headed for her bathroom.

“"You’'ve got some sweats and a T-shirt in the clean laundry,”" she called after him. A bigger T-shirt, at that. “"Basket’'s on the dryer.”"

“"Thanks,”" he called back.

She smiled fondly after him, then down at Gus, who was still clearing the debris field. She was tempted to let him devour all the popcorn, but she didn’'t want him to have a bellyache. So she nudged him back with one bare foot while she dropped a roll of paper towels on the floor. Then she started gathering up gobs of popcorn with the use of her nimble feet.

“"Evenin’', Grace,”" Earl said, appearing next to the TV. He was examining her stack of videos.

“"Did you put Clay up to Astronaut Farmer?”" she asked him as Gus abandoned the popcorn and trotted over to Earl. Gus loved her angel more than junk food. Amazing.

Earl patted Gus as he examined the back of a George Romero classic. Brain-eating zombies, shotguns. What was not to love?

“"Nope. You sure do like zombies,”" he said.

“"Used to be one.”" She crossed her eyes. “"Catholic schoolgirl. No one more brainless than that.”"

“"Rhetta was a Catholic schoolgirl,”" Earl said. “"And you think she’'s smarter than you.”"

“"Because she is. But I can drink more and swear better.”"

“"Proud accomplishments.”" He set down the videos. “"It’'s nice to see you two having a good time. You and Clay. Life’'s so short. Gotta seize the moment.”"

She went cold. Something in his tone set off her alarm bells. “"Those tougher times you mentioned …... that’'s the Sons of Oklahoma, right?”"

He moved his shoulders. “"Maybe. Or maybe it’'s about a certain daughter of God. The tough times she’'s having.”"

If he was talking about Grace herself, she didn’'t currently give a shit about that. “"It doesn’'t have anything to do with Clay?”"

“"You know I can’'t tell you that,”" he said, gazing steadily at her.

“"Can’'t or won’'t?”" she pushed, but she knew he wouldn’'t say either way. Still, as he stood facing her with her DVDs in his hand, the coldness turned to ice, as if she were standing in a cave in the Himalayas. If anything ever happened to her boy …...

“"Why are you here?”" she asked. She clutched the roll of paper towels like a weapon. “"What’'s going on, Earl?”"

“"I’'m not here for any special reason. I just heard the laughter,”" he replied. “"I knew Clay was over, and I thought I’'d pop by. I like Clay.”"

She took a protective step toward the hall. “"Clay,”" she yelled, but she heard the shower going. He wouldn’'t be able to hear her. She swallowed. “"Nothing’'s going to happen to him. I want you to tell me that.”"

He only looked at her. “"How you’'re feeling? That’'s how God feels when you’'re being reckless, taking chances. You. That’'s how He feels about you.”"

“"What is this?”" she asked, edgy, defensive. “"Is this some kind of test, or lesson?”" She put the towels on the breakfast bar and stomped down the hall. She rapped on the door with the back of her hand, fingers doubled into a fist. “"Clay?”" she called loudly. “"You okay?”"

The water went off.

“"Aunt Grace?”" Clay called. “"Did you say something?”"

“"Yeah, um.”" She closed her eyes. “"Just …... there’'s a clean towel on the rack. The blue one.”"

“"Thanks.”" A beat. “"Are you okay, Aunt Grace?”"

“"Yeah.”" She sagged a little, relief making her go weak in the knees. The water went back on, and she strode back into the living room. “"This is not okay, man,”" she began.

But Earl was gone.

CHAPTER          SEVEN